Just Admit It
by Daisy1600
Summary: (Deadpool 2 movie) Nate works the graveyard shift at 7-Eleven, and Wade's a flirty, delusional mercenary who likes 69cent slurpee refills and believes that the man with the war wounds and gleaming metal prosthetic arm is in love with him.
1. Lucky penny

Just as he does anywhere between five and seven times a week, Wade strutted his stuff over to the nearest 7-Eleven, plastic reusable cup in hand, ready to face some stoned ass college dropout that doesn't know the price of the goddamn products that they sell. Wade has lost count of the number of times he's had to try and convince the cashier that the refills are a mellow 69¢ and not a whopping $1.49.

This time though, when he rounded the corner, the glass doors of the... horrifyingly filthy convenience store coming into view, he nearly dropped his beloved cup on the piss-soaked pavement. He couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing.

The cashier was _gorgeous_.

From the deep-set frown on his face to the gleaming metal prosthetic arm that was even more noticeable against the stark white hue of his t-shirt, he was everything Wade's ever wanted and _more_. He must be an army veteran, considering the scars on his face and neck that no doubt cover the expanse of his rock hard body, and the fact that you can tell a lot about a man by his haircut. And, well, the cashier had what Wade thought looked like marbley-black and grey waves that he wouldn't mind having crash over him and drown him.

"Hey, do you have some change you could spare, or are you just going to stand there _ogling_ that wrinkled fucking goose at the cash register?" Asked the homeless man sitting in a ratty old Spongebob Squarepants beach chair with even rattier blankets piled atop his lap to keep him warm in the... seventy-two degree weather they're having.

Shaking his head and slapping it a few times for good measure, Wade turned to face the lowlife. "You better watch what you say, jackass, cause that's my future husband you're talking about." Before the old haggard man could bite back, Wade headed inside, making sure that his boots squeaked loudly against the unwashed tile so that the hot piece of ass at the register would look up at him as he sauntered over to to slurpee machine.

"Jesus christ," the man muttered lowly under his breath, sticking a finger in his ear and rubbing it around as he clenched his eyes shut. Guess Wade's boots were just a little bit _too_ squeaky for Mr. tall, tan and bionic's liking. He glanced over his shoulder only to see that the man was already glaring after him. More than likely staring at his ass. _Good,_ Wade thought to himself, _Mr. Sexy is already putty in my hands._

He was quick to fill up his cup to the very top with cherry, practically having to give the lid a goddamn blowjob when it began to erupt like a volcano. When he was done, his hands were sticky and covered in the juices of his favoritist thing in the entire world aside from buttsex.

Before heading over to the cash register, he grabbed some knockoff brand Hostess cupcakes and some Trolli gummy worms. He set all the crap atop the counter, a wide smirk spread across his scarred up face. "So, what's the damage, big boy?"

The man, who's name tag said 'Nate', blinked very slowly before scanning the three items. "That'll be $4.99, Red," he said, voice a deep, low rumble that sent Wade's mind straight to the gutter. The man must've been referring to his red and black leather jacket he wore while out on a kill. God, it's just so cute how Nathanial's already so madly in love with him...

"Aw, he's already come up with a nickname for us..." Wade cooed as he slid a fiver across the counter. Nate let out a low growl deep in the back of his throat and punched some buttons on the screen in front of him before setting the receipt and a penny in the palm of Wade's hand. Which in turn caused the latter to close his hand around Nate's and hold still for a moment until it was being slowly wiggled free from his firm grasp.

"You talking to me or what?"

"Nope, just to the voices in my head, Nathanial."

"It's _Nate_ —"

"Anyways, Natey, you free after work or do you just wanna, y'know, take this into the back room-"

"Are you propositioning me?"

"Depends..." Wade smirked, "Are you saying yes?"

"No." Nate grumbled with no real heat behind the words.

"Dammit. Guess we'll just have to try again next time then."

"Still talking to those voices, huh?" Nate asked with a raised brow, seeming genuinely curious. God, it's like every person Wade flirts with instantly falls madly in love with him... Though it does seem like the guy isn't too big a fan of shacking up while at work. Maybe he wants to buy Wade dinner before splitting him in half? Guess there's a first time for everything.

"You bet your sweet ass I am, Nathanial,"

The corner of Nate's mouth twitched slightly, almost as though he were about to smile, but managed to bite the side of his cheek in time to suppress it. "I'm not gonna bother correcting you again because I know you're just gonna come up with another ridiculous nickname, so have a nice... day, Red."

"Day... right. It's not like it's one in the morning or anything," Wade mumbled, more to himself than Nate. "You have a nice day too, Natey. I'll see you in your dreams. And in mine. And probably again tomorrow at this time because I have a really bad sugar addiction."

He then grabbed all his junk off the counter and headed out the door, not missing the quiet "shit," Nate had breathed out.

"You don't even have to ask this time, buddy!" Wade said to the homeless man sitting outside the building as he tossed his change toward him.

The penny landed atop the man's blanket covered lap. His wrinkled face managed to scrunch up even more as he picked up the coin and inspected it. "The fuck is this?" He asked, looking offended as all hell.

"It's what you oh-so rudely asked me for earlier—" before Wade could even finish his sentence, the coin was being launched at him; hitting him square in the face.

The act of blatant disrespect outraged him, but he clenched his hands into fists by his sides and miraculously managed to hold off on ripping the homeless piece of shit to shreds.

Realizing that he should keep anything and everything given to him by his future husband, Wade slowly bent over to pick up the fallen penny. One good reason to not beat the crap out of the scum of the earth stood before him is the fact that he'd more than likely end up spilling his slurpee. And his off-brand Hostess cupcakes could very well end up being crushed to smithereens; their crumbs mixing with the puddle of piss on the pavement and making it look like someone went number one and number two in the same spot. The mental image would've had him laughing so hard he'd have to change his clothes, if not for the fact that it involved his favorite cheap, off-brand snack cakes being just a little bit _destroyed_.

Oh, and he didn't want to be tasked with having to dump not one, but _two_ bodies in the same night. Which, by the way, is the absolute _worst_ thing about being a mercenary. They make the... er, lifestyle seem so goddamn easy in movies. You know, the usual 'break into wherever your victim resides, shoot them in the head and skedaddle'. But guess what, kids, that's not how shit works in the real, non-cinematic world. You have to investigate and surveil your target for sometimes days ahead of the planned death-date (as Wade liked to refer to the day he kills his victim's on), and you have to hack into their cell phone, computer, bank account, maybe follow them around for a few days, learn their schedule, find a discreet way to dump the body, or if they need to be alive for the particular job you were hired for; deliver their unconscious and severely damaged body to the person who's paying you.

So yeah, Wade was rightfully exhausted and wanted nothing more than to head home and take a much needed shower, rather than break some sack of dick in half.

"You're lucky I'm exhausted from slicing some other motherfucker in half and dumping the body a couple of hours ago, jackass, otherwise you'd already be nothing but a pile of freshly cut meat marinating in a puddle of cancerous piss." He didn't miss the audible gulp the homeless man emitted, or the way he attempted to covertly eye the amber colored liquid on the pavement just outside the store where Wade had just met the love of his life. There were very few doubts in his mind that Mr. Homeless and Douchey had been the one who'd urinated in front of the fine establishment we call 7-Eleven.

"Oh, and word of advice, buddy," Wade took a step closer to the surprisingly short man standing a mere four and a half feet away from him. "Don't shit where you eat. Like, okay, I know you pissed where you sleep– but it's basically the same thing."

The man did not respond in any way other than blinking and gawking at Wade. He has that affect on a lot of people.

Feeling as though he'd gotten his point across, Wade slipped his new lucky penny into the small and useless pocket on the front of his jeans and made his grand exit. Which was really just him brushing past the old man and jostling him the slightest bit.

He wouldn't let their encounter ruin his good mood at having met the love of his life inside of the fine establishment he'd walked away from mere moments ago. He'd carry the memory of Nathanial until morning, as well as for the rest of his life.


	2. The Full Package

"Wait just a goddamn second—" Wade exclaimed as he inspected his receipt from the night previous. "That hot piece of ass overcharged me!"

It seemed as though Nate had charged him $1.49 instead of 69¢ for his slurpee refill, which he would most definitely be going back and getting store credit for. And if that wasn't an actual thing, he'd settle for a refund. Or like, eighty-ish cents back.

"Am I supposed to like, care or something?" Weasel deadpanned. He didn't have time for Wade and his stupid mid-life crises. It was happy hour and he had a bar to run.

"Weasel, don't you understand what this fucking means?!" When Weasel continued to stare at his friend unblinking, Wade continued. "It means Mr. Roboto loves me back! I mean, why else would he overcharge me?"

"Okay– I'm just gonna stop you right there because none of what you just said makes like any fucking sense, Wade. If this guy is as hot as you say he is, then why would he want some ugly motherfucker like you?"

"Because I'm like the full package, Weas! If you, y'know, ignore all this," Wade explained, gesturing toward his scarred up face. Back in his Special Forces days, he'd been in an unfortunate accident wherein an explosive device had been activated and he'd been standing far too close to it while out on a particularly dangerous manhunt. His face and torso had been the parts of his body that'd suffered the most severe burns. Which was a real shame, seeing as those were the parts of him that were the most attractive, and were seen on a day-to-day basis. God, and he'd been so proud of how much hair he still had at his age. Not that he had been very old at the time of the accident, but his estranged mother once upon a time told him that his absent father went bald at thirty-two.

"I don't know buddy, it's kinda... Well, it's the first thing anyone'd notice about you, and it'd kinda... It's- it's bad, Dude. I'm not even gonna sugarcoat it." Weasel cleared his throat, looking a little sick after imagining making out with his best friend's ugly mug.

"I appreciate you keeping it real with me, Weas, but I don't think he's as big a dumbfuck as all the other workers, and therefore wouldn't have overcharged me by nearly a whole entire dollar. He's in love with me, man. And since he wasn't into the whole shacking up in the back room idea, it looks like I'll just have to ask his sweet ass out on a date."

"Whatever, man. Just think that you're being a little bit fucking delusional again. Swear to God, this is just like that whole priest fiasco..." Weasel muttered, shaking his head as he drank from a half-empty beer bottle sitting atop the bartop that some dumbfuck had abandoned to go shack up with some other STD-ridden meathead in the bathroom.

"Hey, its not my fault I didn't know Father Francis was totally het and married!" Wade countered, feeling like his best friend was using his past mistakes to attack him. Like, seriously, how was he supposed to know that the priest at his local church he never visited was heterosexual, married, and wouldn't be swayed by Wade's charm?!

In the beginning, the old man had been so flirty with Wade; leading the mercenary to believe he was interested whenever they bumped into each other at the grocery store, asking the poor little burn victim if he had a moment to speak about their lord and savior Jesus Christ.

Wade hadn't known a single detail about the man's personal life until he'd up and grabbed the priest's ass in the chip aisle and went in for a smooch. He'd gotten slapped pretty hard that day. Not only physically, but mentally, too. He'd gotten a real earful about how toxic homosexuality is, and heard all about the man's arthritis, wife, grandchildren, great-grandchildren he'd lost faith in, and his anal fissures that should've kept him bedridden for the rest of the week, but he just had to have his Doritos.

"He's a goddamn priest, Wade! They're all straight and married!"

"Oh, and how the fuckshit was I supposed to have known that? I'd only ever seen them in porn, damn it!" Wade bit back. "Know what, Weas, we're so not having this argument again. I'm going to go and not only get store credit, but my man!" He shouted over his shoulder as he exited the bar owned by his best friend. Or at least who he'd thought was his best friend.

"I've got some news for you, Wade, store credit doesn't fucking exist at 7-goddamn-Eleven!"

It wasn't one in the morning as it was the last time Wade had driven to 7-Eleven, but he had high hopes that Nate would be hunched over the register, cute little scowl in place.

He had none such luck as he exited his vehicle and sauntered over to the scuffed and scarred glass doors. A short Indian man stood in Nate's stead, reminding Wade a lot of his old cab driver. But not in a racist way or anything quite so bigoted.

I mean, who was Wade to judge? Just look at him and all his glory, why don't you.

Instead of turning back the way he came and heading home with his head hung low in shame, he shook himself out of his disappointment at his future husband not being on shift and pushed on the smudged door; feeling stupid when it didn't budge and he had to instead pull on it. It felt as though the universe was mocking him. Not to the same degree as his best friend, but it still made him ache in all the places he thought were numbed by the explosion from nearly a decade ago that very well could've taken his life.

He waved his cup at the cashier so the man would know that he'd brought his own and wouldn't be so ignorant as to charge him extra for it, on his way to the back where the slurpee machine was kept. This time, he filled it with cherry as well as mutant. His two favorite flavors.

As always the two being mixed together caused some kind of chemical reaction and the cup began to overflow like a goddamn volcano. He licked all around the lid, sucking up all the red, juicy goodness. He then stuck an extra long red straw in it, both loving and hating the way the particular hue reminded him of the nickname the love of his life had given him less than twenty-four hours ago.

Shaking himself out of his conflicting thoughts and feelings, he grabbed a handful of napkins to sop up the red syrup staining the lid and cup in his hand. Every sane person in a billion block radius was out partying and or drinking on such a fine Friday night, so there was no line at the checkout to burden Wade.

"Last night, I bought a slurpee refill and got like, super overcharged." Wade explained, handing over his precious receipt as proof.

"Uh, I don't think so. Refills are supposed to be $1.49. Sir."

"There's a sign on the display that says otherwise, bucko," he sassed, though there was no real heat behind his words. He just wasn't feeling it today. "You can go check if you want. I know for a fact that it says 69¢. I remember because one, it's cheap, and two, it's a really great sex position."

The man stared at Wade in utter contempt before throwing his head back and releasing a guttural groan that sure as hell looked and sounded like it hurt. But the man seemed as though he was fine, just an asshole Wade wished to mince with his katana which were (sadly) hidden beneath the false bottom in the trunk of his car.

When the dickhead — Rishi — was finally done groaning and glaring at him, he grabbed a pencil from a cup and used the side missing its eraser to slide the slurpee cup toward Wade. "Just take your crap and leave, man."

"See Weas, I was right! They do give store credit!" Wade shouted, exacerbating the notion that everybody who shopped at such a fine establishment was a psychopath who wanted to drink every last once of red blood cells from the cashier's body with a slurpee straw.

"Uh, we fucking don't, but you're annoying as hell and I don't really wanna deal with you and your oversize baggage full of complete and utter crap." Said Rishi in a vicious tone that would've sent Wade on a violent rampage half an hour ago, but at this very moment hardly registered in his brain as anything more than a rude remark made by a braindead dick asking for the middle finger.

So, Wade flipped the man off as he picked his full, sticky, napkin covered cup off the counter and took a long, lewd sip from the straw as he headed out the door. And, as he stepped foot off the threshold, he realized that Mr. homeless-and-asking-for-death was now camped outside in his spongebob squarpants beach-chair that Wade was more than a little envious about.

"Why so sad, bitch? Aw, is it because your wrinkly old goose isn't here today? Guess what motherfucker, he has Friday's off because he isn't a complete and total loser like you. He's just a really damn big loser, is all."

Ignoring the sacrilegious words pouring from the no doubt avid cartoon-watcher's mouth, Wade stooped to the man's level (literally) and posed a very important query that could mean two bucks of a broken leg to the man sat before him with little to no (zero) survival instincts. "What days do the love of my life work on?" The man was dumb, not deaf, and could obviously tell that the question was little more than a thinly veiled threat, but merely laughed in Wade's face; all three of his teeth on display. They were small, yellow, and made his stomach rumble as they reminded him of corn. Which meant he'd have to stop by the scary grocery store that was open late on his way home to pick some up, and then he'd have to go through the process of boiling them in hot water which hardly seemed worth it at such a late hour—

"I'll tell your stalker-ass if you give me whatever's in your left front pocket."

Wade blanched, trying to remember whether he'd taken the penny Nate had given him out of his tiny pocket inside the bigger pocket of his jeans or not. He gulped, not knowing whether it was worth it to risk having to give up his most prized possession other than his katana, or to play it safe and stop by the convenience store, the very fine establishment known as 7-Eleven, everyday until he learned Nate's schedule.

If he went with option number two, it'd be just like his job. He'd scope out the place, watch who comes and goes, write down when Nate in particular comes and goes... It could be like a little side job he doesn't get paid for but may or may not be rewarded for in the long run.

"I think I'll take my chances, Spongebob." Wade spoke in a hoarse whisper, like a man who'd been stranded in the desert without a drop water for ten days and is just now speaking his first words since finding sweet, sweet salvation.

"If anything, I'm Squidward!" Hobo guy yelled after Wade on the way to his beat up car he loved more than... Come to think of it, he actually kind of hated it.

Once inside the safe confines of his vehicle, giant Slurpee cup inside its designated cup holder, Wade decided to slip his hand inside his tiny pocket and then the large one on the left side of his body.

Between the two, he found a paperclip, sixteen cents (none of which were his special penny), and a c-cell battery. Damn it. He could've chanced losing the penny and have gotten his way. Would've easily learned the days his sweet works on as well as his schedule. But this could be fun. It involved a hell of a lot more effort... but it could turn out to be quite beneficial. And that was really all that mattered.


End file.
